Time Travel Omnibus, page 424
“That’s all I need to know about my father. I’m not interested in his race or nationality or whatever you call it, or his age or what he looked like. That hotheaded Gord! He got himself so wrought up I honestly think he’d have believed any silly balderdash you told him.” Wia laughed merrily. “Why,” she went on, wiping her eyes, “he probably would have believed you if you’d told him the most ridiculous thing you could think of—even that you yourself were the man!” Her eyes were mirrors of innocent candor.
“Then you wouldn’t consider me a—a good eugenic specimen, Wia?” McElroy asked painfully.
Wia sobered contritely.
“Oh, dear,” she apologized, “that wasn’t very polite, was it? But really, James, don’t you have mirrors in your era? You seem about the same age as Gord and I are, yet even with your smaller life-expectancy, I can see that you’re going to be prematurely old. Why, look, there are grey hairs at your temples. And you seem unable to see without that glass thing across your eyes. Besides, I noticed right away how unstable you are emotionally.
“I’m sure,” she added courteously, “that you have a fine mind. You must have, to have thought of this whole thing in your primitive era. And you must be forward-looking, or you wouldn’t have believed in time-travel when other people didn’t. I like you very much. But naturally, as a geneticist yourself, you would hardly select yourself as the best possible ancestor for anybody, would you?”
McElroy smiled with stiff lips.
“You’re very perspicacious, my dear. I hope you won’t ever regret the father I did pick out for you.”
“I shan’t. And don’t worry about Gord, either; he’ll get over his shock. Anyway, neither of us will ever have children of our own now. And that other little boy—Mark Iverson—died when he was five. So the line ends with us, and you can set your mind at rest.”
She took Me Elroy’s cold hand in her warm one.
“Paternity means a lot to people in your time, doesn’t it?” she said sympathetically. “More than it does in ours—or maternity either—and much more, evidently, than it does in Gord’s.
“Look, James, I know how you’re feeling. You must feel responsible for our existence, Gord’s and mine, almost as if you really were our father. Don’t We’ll get along all right.
“Do you know what I think you ought to do? I think you ought to have a child of your own. I’m sure you’re as good a potential ancestor as lots of people of your time, and any defects you transmitted would be diluted out in the generations after you. Have you any children already?”
“I had—I had a son—but he was killed.”
“Like poor little Mark Iverson. Well, have another.”
“His mother was killed with him. We—I loved her very much.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. But even so—oh, I forgot; you people are sort of monogamists, aren’t you?”
“Sort of.” To his surprise, McElroy found himself smiling faintly.
“Then perhaps—don’t you think you might find someone else you would want to have a child by? I’m afraid that’s a clumsy way to put it; your customs are so unfamiliar to me. But I do feel you’re the kind of man who ought to marry—isn’t that the word?—and have sons and daughters of your own again.”
“You may be right, Wia. I hadn’t thought of it that way. Thank you for coming today. I feel my whole experiment was justified by its producing you.”
“What a nice thing to say! I’ve liked meeting you too, James. I don’t expect they’ll want me to come to see you again, but I’ll never forget you. Neither will Gord. And think about what I said, won’t you? Why, just think, if you take my advice today, I may know some remote descendant of yours myself!”
He took her hand.
“Goodbye, Wia. I promise you I’ll think about it.”
He stood at the door and watched his daughter stride across the lawn to the bushes where her time-travel machine was hidden. There were tears in his eyes, but his heart was strangely light.
TIME GRABBER
Gordon R. Dickson
It seemed to be logical research, switching sixteen Romans from the 1st Century to the 27th—for study . . . But who was going to take their place?
FEB 16, 2631—Dear Diary: Do I dare do it? It’s so frustrating to have to be dependent upon the whims of a physicist like Croton Myers. I’m sure the man is a sadist—to say nothing of being a pompous ass with his scientific double-talk, and selfish to boot. Otherwise, why won’t he let me use the time-grapple? All that folderol about disrupting the fabric of time.
He actually patted me on the shoulder today when I swallowed my righteous indignation to the extent of pleading once more with him. “Don’t take it so hard, Bugsy,” he said—imagine—‘Bugsy’—to me, Philton J. Bugsomer, B.A., M.A., L.L.D., Ph.D., “in about twenty years it’ll be out of the experimental Stage. Then we’ll see if something can’t be done for you.”
It’s intolerable. As if a little handful of people would be missed out of the whole Roman Empire. Well, if I can’t do it with his permission, I will do it without. See if I don’t. My reputation as a scholar of sociomatics is at stake.
* * *
Feb. 18, 65: MEMO TO CAPTAIN OF THE POLICE: The emperor has expressed a wish for a battle between a handful of gladiators and an equal number of Christians. Have gladiators but am fresh out of Christians. Can you help me out?
(signed) Lictus,
CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA
Feb. 19, 65: MEMO TO CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA: I think I might be able to lay my hands on a few Christians for you—possibly. And then again I might not. By the way, that’s a nice little villa you have out in the Falernian Hills.
(signed) Papirius,
CAPTAIN OF POLICE
Feb. 19, 65: Papirius:
All right, you robber. The villa’s yours. But hurry! We’ve only got a few days left.
L.
Feb. 21, 65: Dear L:
Thanks for the villa. The papers just arrived. By an odd coincidence I had overlooked the fact that we already had sixteen fine, healthy Christians on hand, here. I am sending them on to you.
Love and kisses,
P.
* * *
Feb. 22,—2631:—Dear—Diary: Congratulate me! I knew my chance would come. Late last night I sneaked into the physics building. That fool of a Myers hadn’t even had the sense to lock the door of his laboratory. I opened it and went in, pulled down the shade, turned on the light, and was able to work in complete security. Luckily, I had already played on his credulity to the extent of representing myself as overawed by the mechanical mind, and so induced him to give me a rough idea of how he operated the time-grapple (this over the—lunch—table—in the Faculty Club) so, with a little experimenting, and—I will admit it—some luck, I was able to carry off my plans without a hitch.
I bagged sixteen young males from the period of Nero’s reign—along somewhere in the last years. By great good luck they happened to be Christians taken prisoner and destined for the Roman Games. Consequently the guards had them all huddled together in a tiny cell. That’s why the time-grapple was able to pick up so many at one grab. They came along quite docilely, and I have quartered them in the basement of my house where they seem to be quite comfortable and I can study them at my leisure.
Wait until the Sociomatics department here at the University sees the paper I’ll write on this!
* * *
Feb. 23, 65: MEMO TO CAPTAIN OF POLICE: Where are my Christians? Don’t think you can gyp me out of my villa and then not deliver.
(signed) Lictus,
CAPTAIN OF ARENA
Feb. 23, 65: MEMO TO CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA: You got your Christians. I saw them delivered myself. Third cell on the right, beneath the stands.
(signed) Papirius,
CAPTAIN OF POLICE
Feb. 24, 65: MEMO TO CAPTAIN OF POLICE: I tell you they’re not there.
(signed) Lictus,
CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA
Feb. 24, 65: MEMO TO CAPTAIN OF ARENA: And I tell you they are:
(signed) Papirius,
CAPTAIN OF POLICE
P.S. Are you calling me a liar?
Feb. 25, 65: MEMO TO CAPTAIN OF POLICE: I tell you THEY’RE NOT THERE. Come on over and look for yourself if you don’t believe me.
(signed) Lictus,
CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA
Feb. 25, 65: Listen, Lictus:
I don’t know what kind of a game you think you’re playing, but I haven’t time to bother with it right now. Whether you know it or not, the Games load a lot of extra work on the police. I’m up to my ears in details connected with them, and I won’t put up with having you on my neck, too. I’ve got the receipt signed by your jailer, on delivery. Any more noise from your direction and I’ll turn it, together with your recent memos, over to the Emperor himself and you can straighten it out with him.
Papirius
* * *
Feb. 25, 2631: Dear Diary: What shall I do? How like that sneaky, underhanded physicist to be studying historical force lines in the Roman era, without mentioning it to me. Myers came into lunch today fairly frothing with what can only be described as childish excitement and alarm. It seems he had discovered a hole in the time fabric in the year 65, although he hasn’t so far been able to place its exact time and location (this is, of course, my sixteen Christians) and he tried to frighten us all with lurid talk about a possible time collapse or distortion that might well end the human race—if the hole was not found and plugged. This is, of course, the most utter nonsense. Time collapse, indeed! But I can take no chances on his discovering what actually happened, and so I realized right away that I had to plug the hole.
The idea of putting back my Romans is, of course, unthinkable. They are beginning to respond in a most interesting manner to some spatial relationship tests I have been giving them. Therefore I cleverly sounded out Myers to find the necessary factors to plug the hole. I gather that any sixteen men would do, provided they conformed to the historically important characteristics of the Roman group. This sounded simple when he first said it, but since then the problem has been growing in my mind. For the important characteristics are clearly that they be all Christians who are willing to die for their faith. I might easily find such a group in Rorqan times but in order to hide the gap my replacements will make I will have to take them from some other era—one Myers is not studying. I have only a day or two at most. Oh, dear diary, what shall I do?
PHYSICIST GIVEN KNOCKOUT DROPS
(University News)
(Feb. 27, 2631), When Croton Myers, outstanding physicist and professor of Physical Sciences at the university here showed a marked tendency to snore during his afterlunch classes, his students became alarmed and carried him over to the University Hospital. There, doctors discovered that the good professor had somehow been doped. There were no ill effects, however, and Dr. Myers was awake and on his feet some eighteen hours later. Authorities are investigating.
Feb. 29, 2631: Dear Diary: SUCCESS! Everything has been taken care of. I am so relieved.
* * *
Feb. 28, 1649 (From the Journal of John Stowe)—Today, by the will of the Lord, we are safely on our way from Appleby, fifteen men under the valiant leadership of Sergeant Flail-of-the-Lord Smith, having by our very presence in Appleby served to strike fear into the hearts of the papist plotters there, so that they dispersed—all of the troop in good health and spirits save only for one small trouble, of which I will relate.
It hath come to pass, that, being on our way from Appleby to Carlisle, there to join the forces of Captain Houghton, if God shall suffer such to come to pass, we have found ourselves at nightfall in a desolate section of the country, wasted by the late harrying and pillaging. We decided to pitch camp where we found ourselves rather than adventure farther in the dark.
Therefore, we made ourselves comfortable with such simple fare as contents a servant of the Lord, and our provisions supplied, and having sung a goodly hymn and given ourselves over to an hour or so of prayer for the pleasing of our souls, some among us fell to talking of the nature of the surrounding waste, recalling that from heathen times it hath had the name of being a place of most evil and supernatural resort. But our good Sergeant Flail-of-the-Lord, speaking up cheerily, rebuked those who talked so, saying “Are we not all servants of the Lord, and strong in his wrath? Therefore, gird ye up your courage and take heart.”
But there were still some among us—and I do confess some sort of the same weakness in myself—who found the blackness and desolation press still heavily upon our souls, reminding us of manifold sins and wickedness whereby we had placed ourselves in danger of the Pit and the ever-present attacks of the Enemy. And our good Sergeant, seeing this, and perceiving we needed the sweet comfort and assuagement of the Word of the Lord, he bade us sit close by him, and opening his Book which was the Word of the Lord, read to us from II Kings Chapter 9, concerning the overthrow and just fate of Jezebel, whereat we were all greatly cheered and entreated him that he read more to us.
But it happened at this time that a small trouble was thrust upon us, inasmuch as it appeared to all of us that the wide and empty fields of night which surrounded us were whisked away and the appearance of a cell, stone on three sides, and a thick iron grating on the fourth, surrounded us. Whereat we were at first somewhat surprised. However, our good Sergeant, looking up from his Book, bade us mind it not, for that it was no more than a manifestation of whatever unholy spirits plagued the spot and which they had called up in jealous defiance of the sweet virtue of the Lord’s word, as he had been reading it.
On hearing this, all were reassured, and, the hour being late, lay down to rest, inasmuch as we are to march at the first break of dawn. So, now, as I write these words, by God’s mercy, nearly all are disposed to slumber, saving that the enchantment of the cell doth make somewhat for cramped quarters and I do confess that I, myself am somewhat ill-at-ease, being accustomed to the good pressure of my stout sword against my side as I go to sleep. This, however, may not be helped, for, since it is the custom of our troop to lay aside all sharp tools on coming into the presence of the Lord our weapons are hidden from us by the enchantment and it would be a mark of lack of faith to pretend to search for them.
And, so, thanks be to the Lord, I will close this entry in my journal and dispose myself for a night of rest.
* * *
March 1, 65: MEMO TO CAPTAIN OF POLICE: I notice you finally got cold feet and got those Christians over here after all. But I warn you, I’m not yet altogether satisfied. They look like pretty oddappearing Christians to me. More like barbarians. And if you’ve rung in something like that on me, I warn you, the Emperor will hear of it. My gladiators are too valuable to risk with a group of Goths or Vandals,
(signed) Lictus,
CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA
March 1, 65: MEMO TO CAPTAIN OF ARENA:—Papirius—has unfortunately been called out of the city on police business, and it is uncertain when he will be able to get back. . . I am sure, however, that if the Captain said that these men were Christians, they are Christians. However, if you’re doubtful, there’s nothing easier than to test the matter. Give any of them a pinch of incense and see if they’ll sacrifice to the gods to gain their freedom. If they won’t they’re Christians. You know how these things work.
(Signed) Tivernius,
Acting CAPTAIN OF POLICE
* * *
(From the Journal of John Stowe) March 2, 1649: Lo! Satan is upon us and his devils do surround us. Trusting in the Lord, however, we have no fear of them.
Early this morning we awoke to find the enchantment still strong about us. Whereupon we took counsel together concerning our conduct in this strait. After several hours of discussion, it was decided that we could not necessarily be considered remiss in our military duties for not pushing on to Carlisle when bound and held by devils. This settled, it remained only to decide on our course of conduct towards these imps of Satan, and Sergeant Flail-of-the-Lord hath determined this by ordering that all present be industrious in prayer and considering of the good works of the Lord.
So it fell out that about the third or fourth hour after sunrise when we were engaged in singing that hymn of sweet comfort—
Lo! We shall crush His enemies And drown them in their blood—that a fat, balding devil of middle age, somewhat wrapped and entwined in a sheet of bed linen approached the outer grating of our cell and did speak with us.
At first we were slow in understanding; but as it did happen that by good chance I had had some teaching in my youth in papist ways, it was not long before I realized that this devil was speaking a particularly barbarous and unnatural form of latin; and, on my conveying this information to Sergeant Flail-of-the-Lord, it was decided that I should speak with the devil for all of us.
I began by abjuring him to turn from the ways of the devil and cast himself upon the mercy of the Lord. But, so imperfect were the creature’s wits and so inadequate his grasp of the tongue in which we conversed that he failed to grasp my meaning. Whereupon, I demanded of him by what right he held us and he did name several devils with Romish names and, producing several objects of strange manufacture, seemed to call on us for some kind of action.
At this point, Sergeant Flail-of-the-Lord interrupted to order me that I draw the devil out in conversation and learn whatsoever I could, that the knowledge might be a means to breaking the enchantment. Therefore, I did show interest and beseeched the devil to further explain himself.
Whereupon he did so. And it was apparent immediately that our wise Sergeant, praise the Lord, had correctly judged the state in which we were held. For after a great deal of words which I had some trouble interpreting, it became apparent that this spawn of the Devil, this creature of Satan was endeavoring by means of foul enticements and false promises of release from our enchantment, to cozen us into bowing down to graven images.
